


The Hearts of Three, by Gladstone the puppy

by jamlockk



Series: Gladstone [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Gladstone POV, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/pseuds/jamlockk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to ask Sherlock. Sherlock wants to ask John. As usual, it falls to Gladstone to make sure everything goes to plan!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hearts of Three, by Gladstone the puppy

**Author's Note:**

> Schmoopy fluff (very) loosely inspired by TSoT. I accept no responsibility for dentists bills.

I wake up slowly, comfortably nestled at the foot of my masters' bed. I'm not really supposed to be here but Sherlock still indulges me and John indulges Sherlock. They are both still fast asleep, wrapped around one another, each with one foot pressed against my weight at the bottom of the bed. It is comfort, love and home. Everything I hold dear in this world, here beside me as the early morning light slips between the not-quite closed curtains and bathes the room in a golden glow. 

My John. My Sherlock. My family. They sleep on, quiet breaths ruffling through warm air. I hop down, stretch myself on the floor. My feet click softly on the hardwood as I pad down the hallway to the kitchen. My tongue lolls and I snuffle happily at the floor, heading for my water bowl. I'm so thirsty!

I take long pulls of water from the dish and spill it a little bit. Oops. I shake myself and nibble a little of my dinner leftovers. It's still early so I plod around the flat for a bit, leaving my masters the peace to sleep on for a while. I find a slightly charred tennis ball under the sofa and chew on it happily for a few minutes. It tastes a bit odd but I don't mind. I'll have to hang onto it, it's good to gnaw on. Where can I hide it? 

I finally decide on burying it amongst the sofa cushions. The sofa is one of my favourite spots in the flat. Sometimes when Sherlock stretches out on it to think, his hands steepled in front of his face, he lets me lie beside him, tucked in between the cushions at the back and his body. He lets me rest my head on his thigh and sometimes he strokes me absently. We often fall asleep together like that and when John comes home (smelling funny, I don't like his scent when it reminds me of the vet), he smiles at us. Those are my very favourite smiles, when his face is soft and open. I do love them both with all my heart. 

Not so long ago my heart was incomplete; John was always with me but Sherlock was gone. After too long apart he finally came back to us and I was fit to burst with joy. Since then, there have been nights with raised voices, mostly John's, anger and despair and misery in the air. My masters have occasionally spent those nights separated. John goes out and Sherlock sits in his chair, staring at nothing. He looks so lost, so small and crumpled, so unlike how I am used to seeing him. It's like it was back before John came to us, and I can't bear his sadness. I go to him, as I have always done, settling into his lap and feeling him wrap his arms around me. I let him sink his face into my fur, feel his body tremble and shake. 

But then John comes back. John always comes back. And nothing is said of Sherlock's tear-stained face or my wet fur. The anger and despair and misery leave our home and I breathe deeply again. 

I hide my ball in the cushions and flop down in a heap on top of it. Whatever the future may hold I am confident that we can handle it. My masters are strong, brave, kind, and I will always be there to help, cherish and protect them. I close my eyes and sigh contentedly, waiting for them to wake and the day to begin.

*******

I must not have dozed for long becuase there is a warm hand on my head and I thump my tail happily against the sofa to see John looking down at me. 

""You know you're not supposed to be on the sofa," he says, his telling-off somewhat undermined by the fondness in his voice. "Come on, down. You can help me with breakfast, we'll take it in to the lazy lump still snoring through there."

I reluctantly stand up and stretch, shaking my head to clear the last of my sleepy fuzziness. John laughs at me as I step down imperiously and trot into the kitchen. I'm hungry now and last night's dinner is looking very dry and stale. I paw pointedly at my dish and John ruffles my head.

"Just like your master, so demanding," he grumbles, smiling. He pours me some food and I tuck in, listening to him moving about making tea and toast. 

While he waits for the kettle to boil I sit at his feet, nudging him with my nose. I want a cuddle, I haven't had one yet today. He laughs again and scratches behind my ear. 

"Oh Glads," he sighs, and suddenly his voice is thick. I look up in alarm. He's gazing down at me, eyes full. No, this won't do. John should be happy! I whine and lick his hand. He huffs a breath through his nose and kneels down in front of me, taking my head in his hands. I lick his nose and he swats me gently, chuckling. 

"Urgh, your morning breath is worse than Sherlock's," he says. I try to look affronted and he giggles again. I love the sounds they make when they smile. 

"I never thought, Glads. You know that, right? I never thought, I never knew. When I first got back to London, I was... I felt left behind. Like the world had carried on and would carry on, whether I wanted it to or not. And then, after..." he trails off and goes silent a moment. I prod him again. I want to hear his voice, I want to listen to what he has to say. 

"But he came back to us, Glads. He came back to us and he's still here and I just... I want to. I want to ask him. I never thought I would, never knew I could..." he pauses and I wait patiently for him to continue.

"I never knew I could love like this Glads, and yeah. There it is." He rubs my head and he looks at me hopefully.

"Should I, then? Should I ask him?" 

I nudge him with my nose. Yes. Yes, whatever you ask him he will say yes, John. How can you not see this, every time he looks at you?!

"Good, that's settled then," John says firmly, standing up again and getting breakfast together on a tray. "Come on, let's see if we can stir the lazy git."

I follow him down the hallway and launch myself onto the bed, startling Sherlock who is just waking up. John's laughter echoes in the small room, joined by Sherlock's chuckling, and we spend the rest of the morning ensconced in the cosy bed. 

******

It's a little while later that I get antsy. I want to go for a walk and Sherlock wants to collect some soil samples from Hyde Park for an experiment. Perfect! I race through the flat and dig out my tennis ball. Maybe if I make myself look really cute I can get Sherlock to throw the ball for me a bit? 

John potters about while we get ready. He's going to see some old friends today and he's not in the best of moods. Visits like this always put him a little on edge and though I do my best to be nice around new people, I prefer the company of our close friends, like Lestrade. And Molly, she always brings me a biscuit, despite Sherlock's mock disapproval. And Mycroft. Though I don't see Mycroft terribly often, not as much as I would like. He's always been kind to me; I know he cares very deeply for Sherlock and John, even if he is appallingly bad at showing it. 

Sherlock is pulling on his coat and frowning at me. I stand stubbornly in the sitting room, ball between my clenched teeth, tail wagging fiercely. John steps through and looks at the two of us, silently standing off at one another. Then he bursts into fits of giggles, and we both turn to look at him as he continues laughing loudly. He's virtually doubled over next to his chair, tears streaming down his face. Sherlock is biting his lip, trying not to join in. 

"Stop laughing, John. It's ridiculous." 

"Sher... Sherlock... He's just a puppy! He wants to play, he wants you to play with him!" John wheezes. I wag my tail harder. Yes, clever John! This is exactly what I want!

"Oh, very well," Sherlock sighs, still trying to look disdainful. "But only after our walk. If you drop that ball I'm not picking it up," he tells me. I yip behind the ball in my mouth and trot over so he can fasten my leash. His coat jangles as we head for the door, plastic test tubes tucked into his pockets. 

John gives Sherlock a kiss then ruffles my head. "Have fun!" he calls over his shoulder as he heads back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed. 

Sherlock and I clatter noisily down the stairs and out into the bright autumn sunshine, making for Hyde Park. 

We walk briskly, stopping a few times for me to sniff or pee on something. Sherlock is mostly focused on his phone but I don't mind. It's enough to have him here beside me, following his distracted footsteps as we wander through the park. He stoops to collect his soil samples in a few places and I snuffle at the ground a bit, trying to work out what smells or textures he wants to capture. He's so very intelligent, my Sherlock. John tells me so often and I adore the way Sherlock smiles to hear John's words. 

We come to an open area of grass and I wriggle excitedly. Ball! Sherlock puts his phone away and rolls his eyes at me. He unhooks my leash, warning me sternly not to run off, then I drop the ball at his feet and bounce back, head down, butt in the air. Waiting. 

"I'd hoped you might grow out of this silliness, you're a rather clever dog otherwise," Sherlock says dryly. I yip impatiently. Throw the bloody ball already! 

Sherlock does, his arm swinging back and sending my ball sailing through the air. I tear off after it, tongue lolling and drooling everywhere in delight. I snatch it up and go racing back to where Sherlock is standing, watching me. His face is amused and fond, his lopsided smile sweet. I drop the ball at his feet and bark. Again! 

He sighs as though a great, burdensome task has been placed on his shoulders and he is merely indulging my puppy tendencies. The ball flies off into the distance and I chase it madly. 

He throws the ball for me a few more times until I'm getting a bit out of breath. I'm a fit dog, I know this, but even I can't keep up this pace all day! His phone is in his hand again his fingers sweep over the keys almost in a blur. He attaches my leash once more and takes my ball from my mouth, absentmindedly wiping it and his hand on his coat before putting the ball in his pocket. I knew he'd do that. I'll retrieve it when we get home. His coat is too lovely, it wouldn't do to hide my ball there. 

We start our walk home but before we leave the park Sherlock tugs me over to one of the benches and sits down. I drop to his feet and settle. I used to do this with John sometimes, while Sherlock was away. I think sometimes they just need a moment so I'm happy to pause and watch the world go by for a few minutes. Sherlock is so rarely still unless he's thinking and I know better than to interrupt. So I'm surprised when he suddenly speaks to me directly. I sit up and rest my head on his knee, looking into his beautiful face. 

"Are you happy, Gladstone?" he asks me. "Because... I am." I wag my tail and rub my face on his knee. Silly Sherlock! Of course I'm happy. 

"I never thought... I never imagined..." Sherlock says quietly. Funny, that's what John said this morning too. 

Sherlock sucks in a deep breath. "I am going to ask John to marry me, Gladstone." He brushes his fingers over my nose and I squirm as it tickles, licking his palm in retaliation. He chuckles at me and I nuzzle him. 

"Am I to deduce from this that you approve?" I get up and put my paws either side of him, jumping into the gap between his long legs to lick at his face. 

"Yes, yes, alright! Get down!" He's still chuckling though, so I know I'm not really in trouble. He stands up and brushes dirt off his coat and trousers. I put on my best sheepish expression. 

"A quick stop, then home," Sherlock tells me and we leave the park to go into the city. The street is very posh and I feel out of place, with my muddy coat and dirty paws, but also proud. My master cuts a dashing figure and beside him (at least when I'm clean), I look imposing and strong. 

I follow him into the lobby of a large building, going upstairs and through silent rooms filled with the scents of men and smoke and that horrible amber liquid John used to drink frequently. 

We finally get to a door and Sherlock sweeps through as though he belongs there. I toddle in too and am thrilled to see someone I love sitting behind the desk.

"To what to I owe the pleasure, brother dear?" Mycroft murmurs, eyebrow raised. I wag my tail furiously and Sherlock unclips my leash to let me go to his brother. 

"Hello Gladstone," Mycroft greets me warmly, although I'm sure he'll be angry at my getting mud and slobber all over his nice suit. Sherlock snorts with laughter at my antics and I no longer care that I'm getting hair and muck on his brother's expensive clothing. 

"I need something," Sherlock says, suddenly serious. 

"Yes, I thought you might," Mycroft intones, pushing me off his lap and reaching for a drawer in his desk. I stick my nose in, wanting to see what else he's got in that drawer. Maybe a treat? Mycroft huffs at me and gently holds my snout away from whatever goodies he's hiding. When he pulls his hand back he is holding a small, blue box. It looks and smells old, and Mycroft cradles it carefully before placing it on his desk, facing Sherlock. 

"I suppose you're going to give me some advice about getting involved and sentiment," Sherlock says, tone dripping with sarcasm. He steps forward and picks up the box, secreting it hurriedly away.

"On the contrary," Mycroft retorts, "You are clearly beyond my capabilities at this point." 

"Oh? Cherry pie in the kitchen today, was it? No other reason for you to be so accommodating."

"Apple, sadly. Now kindly remove yourself and your dog from my office. I have work to be doing."

"Ah yes, the American elections," Sherlock says, not bothering with my leash this time. "Very well, I shall leave to your plotting. Come along, Gladstone." He stops by the door and turns halfway, his voice low when he speaks next. 

"You should get yourself a dog, Mycroft. This office could do with some mud and hair to spruce up the stuffy decor." 

Mycroft is quiet for a moment, a surprise rarely glimpsed on his face showing ever so briefly. We are almost in the corridor, heavy door closing behind us when I hear his voice again. 

"Congratulations, Sherlock."

******

In the taxi on the way home, Sherlock brings the box out of his suit pocket and opens it to show me. Inside is a small, dull band of metal. Silver, or at least it was. It probably still is under the scuffs and dirty marks. I press my nose into the box to sniff it. It smells old and worn and well cared-for. Sherlock closes the box and puts it back in his pocket, eyes unseeing out of the window. 

"My grand-mere," he tells me. "I know it won't be suitable of course, John is a man and has larger fingers, although not by much." He sighs and shifts his gaze to the floor. 

I want to reassure him but before I have the chance we are home. Sherlock pays the driver and I follow him out of the taxi. He stands on the pavement for a moment, walks towards the door, then steps back again, looking up at our windows above. 

The October sun has dipped low now, painting the sky in washes of soft orange and pink, and there is a gentle light glowing in our windows. The flat beckons with warmth and I see Sherlock smile, his eyes shining brightly in the fading afternoon. I tug on my leash, dragging him out of his thoughts and home to his love. 

Inside the big front door I can smell cooking. My tummy rumbles and I realise neither of us has eaten since breakfast. With any luck I'll get to lick the plates clean after my masters have eaten. Excellent! 

I start up the stairs but I am stopped by Mrs Hudson, calling to Sherlock as she opens her door and comes to greet us. I hop back down the stairs into her waiting arms, fidgeting excitedly at her fussing over me. She coos to me and fluffs my fur, tickling my ears. I adore her, she takes such good care of my family. 

"Gladstone, you dirty old thing! You need a good brushing!" she says. "Sherlock dear, could you come help me in my kitchen a moment?"

Sherlock frowns and opens his mouth. I know he's keen to get upstairs and ask John to marry him, I assume the little metal band belonging to grand-mere has something to do with that. 

"Come along Sherlock, it won't take but a minute," Mrs Hudson says firmly, tugging my leash loose and pulling at Sherlock's coat sleeve. He gestures to me but Mrs Hudson dismisses me with a wave of her hand. 

"Upstairs you, and don't you go getting dirt all over my furniture!"

I take one last look at Sherlock's vaguely apprehensive face and, figuring (hoping) he can handle Mrs Hudson, bound off up to our flat. 

I come crashing through the door and look immediately for John. He's lighting candles on the kitchen table, the rich smells of food wafting throughout the flat. He steps back to admire his handiwork and reaches down to pet my head. 

"What do you think, Glads? Not too much, I hope?" I think it looks lovely and I yip happily to tell him so. He grins and his hand brushes down my coat.

"Oh Glads, you're all filthy! Quick brush, then a bath for you later, I think,' he says. I flop down and roll on my side as he gets out the brush from under the sink. "If I'm not otherwise occupied, that is," he mutters to himself. 

Coat brushed and gleaming, well as much as possible when I'm still a bit dirty underneath, I sit in the kitchen doorway and watch as John opens a bottle and sets it on the counter. He fiddles with something in his pocket and I tilt my head at him questioningly. A broad, joyous smile lights his face as he draws the thing out. It shines in the candlelight, glints catching in John's hair and John's eyes. He looks beautiful, as beautiful as Sherlock had in the taxi. 

"Wish me luck," John whispers, then he puts the shiny metal band back in his pocket and bends quickly to drop a soft kiss to my head. 

Sherlock's footsteps are cautious on the stairs and his eyes go wide when he enters the flat. "John?" he calls out hesitantly. 

"In here!" John replies, winking at me. Sherlock comes through to the kitchen, still dressed in his heavy coat. The dim light flickers over his pale face and he looks worried. 

"John?" he asks again. John clears his throat and his hand goes to his trouser pocket once more. 

"I..." John starts. He looks down at his feet, back to Sherlock and rubs a hand through his hair. "This is harder than I thought it'd be."

"No," Sherlock breathes. As soon as the word passes his lips all the air seems to be sucked from the room. 

They stand there silently looking at one another for a moment and then John turns away. The expression on his face shatters my heart into a thousand pieces; he looks simply crushed. It reminds me of that awful time when we were apart and I hate it. John's voice is cracked and brittle when he speaks and my heart breaks anew. 

"Okay, no problem," he says. "I just... It's fine, it's all fine. I'll, um, I'll get the roast out."

Sherlock snarls, actually snarls. I'm impressed and pleased he sounds so much like me, but John is startled and he whips back around to face Sherlock once more. 

"No," Sherlock says, more loudly and perhaps more vehemently than he intended. John stiffens and reverts to a military stance, his shoulders straightened and arms folded across his chest. He is feeling defensive and Sherlock isn't any better, hands fisted in his hair as he tugs at himself violently. 

"This is all wrong!" Sherlock exclaims, and John draws in a sharp breath. 

Sherlock is right about one thing, this is all wrong. I can no longer stand by and watch them. I leap up and bite the corner of Sherlock's coat, pulling him off balance and closer to John. He stumbles in surprise and John has no choice but to catch him as he falls into John's body. 

"Gladstone!' John yells at me. I pay him no mind. I'm too busy growling and tugging at Sherlock's coat. "What's gotten into you?!" 

Sherlock acquiesces and lets me pull the coat free from his shoulders. I paw and nose at it until I find my prize. Tail wagging frantically, I run to John and ram my nose into his trouser pocket, the small blue box clutched carefully in my mouth. There. That ought to do it!

John scowls at me angrily, but I expect he'll forgive my awful behaviour in a minute. He takes the box from my mouth and looks back to Sherlock. 

Sherlock is smiling, his eyes soft and full of love. He brings his hands to John's and helps him open the box. John's gasp is quiet and when he looks back at Sherlock everything I know they feel for one another is reflected in their faces. It's Sherlock who speaks first. 

"Thank you, Gladstone."

I turn away and find my ball in Sherlock's coat, leaving them to embrace in the kitchen. The sound of joy and affection in their voices reach me in the sitting room and I rest my head on my paws, ball at my side, surrounded by love in my favourite spot on the sofa.

**Works inspired by this one:**

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